The Holmes House
by LittleGingerBiscuit
Summary: Mycroft left his phone at 221B, and Sherlock showed some rare brotherly affection by going to return it. However, he was not expecting Greg to answer Mycroft's door...and he certainly wasn't expecting him to be wearing nothing but a dressing gown.


**Howdy :D Ok so this is just a little fic to cure some writer's block, and it's based off a couple of gifs I found on tumblr with Greg standing in a doorway wearing nothing but a dark blue dressing gown. I thought it was too good an opportunity to miss writing a story about, so here we are! I hope it's not too terrible :D**

John yawned and frowned in his sleep. There was something tickling the back of his neck. A warm something, like a light breeze…

"John," someone whispered.

The doctor's eyes snapped open and he leapt away from the noise, clutching the bed sheets and breathing heavily. "_Jesus Christ!"_ A substantial string of curses flooded from his mouth.

Sherlock was kneeling on the edge of his bed, fully dressed, even wearing shoes. He'd been leaning over John as he slept; now he straightened and offered the other man a small smile. "Evening."

John glared at him through the darkness. "Morning, Sherlock. _It's four in the morning."_

"I need your help," said Sherlock. "I need to get something to Mycroft, but I don't have enough for a cab."

"You couldn't have just taken a tenner out of my wallet?" John rubbed sleep from his eyes and yawned. His whole head felt heavy and groggy.

Sherlock shook his head. "You'd be angry with me in the morning. Anyway, now you're up you may as well help me."

The scowl John shot Sherlock was acidic. "Why on _Earth_," he slurred, "would I willingly get out of bed, on a _freezing December morning_, to go and visit your brother? You brother who you happen to detest."

"I'm not exactly happy about it either," huffed Sherlock, folding his arms and jutting out his bottom lip.

There was a moment of silence where Sherlock stared on pleadingly and John radiated muted disapproval. Then, finally, John gave in with an exasperated sigh.

"Five minutes," he said, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. "Give me five minutes to get dressed."

~Sherlock~

When they arrived at Mycroft's house, John had only just woken up properly. He was still partially dressed for bed, in a loose t-shirt and trousers with his coat pulled on over the top. He'd had a few seconds to pull on his shoes before Sherlock had dragged him from the flat.

Now they stood in front of Mycroft's ridiculously oversized house, Sherlock tapping his foot impatiently while John shivered uncontrollably.

"C-can't we just k-knock?" asked John, his teeth chattering.

Sherlock threw his hands up in frustration and paced the front steps. "No, no," he said. "Mycroft'll only set off the alarm if we knock. The security cameras should have detected us by now…"

"Oh, f-for Christ's s-sake." John, still shuddering uncontrollably, reached past Sherlock and pressed the doorbell.

"_What did you do that for?_ Now he'll just be annoyed, and he won't answer the door, and he'll probably set the police on us!"

The door swung open.

And there, in the doorway, wearing nothing but a dark blue dressing gown, stood Lestrade.

John's eyes widened a fraction. "Well, you were right," he said. "He set the police on us."

Lestrade blinked sleepily. "What…?"

"_Lestrade?"_ Sherlock was on the verge of hysterics, John could tell. "What are you…why are you…?"

The DI yawned. "What are you doing here, Sherlock?"

"_I could ask you the same thing!"_

John pinched the bridge of his nose. This couldn't be happening. "Sherlock, it's a bit obvious…"

"I come here, in the middle of the night, to give something to my brother, and find _you?"_

Lestrade looked doubtful. "Since when have you cared about what Mycroft does?"

"He doesn't," muttered John. "He just likes kicking up a fuss." With a sigh, he looked up. "Can we come in? We just have to drop something off, and we'll leave. Trust me, I have no desire to stay here longer than necessary."

Lestrade looked torn between shutting the door and letting them in. Eventually he gave up and stepped aside, holding the door open wider. "Just be quiet," he said. "Mycroft's asleep."

Sherlock made a loud protestation of disgust and trudged in to the room.

John shot Lestrade an apologetic glance and followed Sherlock in to the entrance hall.

"Gregory? What's going on?"

Lestrade closed the door and turned around, looking up at the wide staircase. Standing at the very top was Mycroft, wearing a gold dressing gown.

The man frowned when he caught sight of his younger brother. "Sherlock."

Sherlock grimaced. "Mycroft."

They said each other's names like swear words.

"Sherlock and John just came by to give you something…I didn't mean to wake you up, sorry," said Lestrade, stammering over his words.

Mycroft smiled at him reassuringly. "It's quite alright, Gregory. I'm sure my little brother has a good reason for disturbing us."

Sherlock shuddered. "Here." He stabbed out his hand, thrusting a phone at Mycroft. "You left it at Baker Street. It kept ringing."

"Thank you." Mycroft stepped forward and took his phone cautiously, as if Sherlock had done something horrible to it.

John looked on at the scene warily. "Well," he said, once the two of them had sufficiently stared each other down. "We should be off. Sorry for interrupting…yeah. Bye."

~Sherlock~

Back at the flat, John collapsed on to the sofa almost as soon as he was through the door.

Sherlock, however, went straight to his desk and logged on to his laptop.

"What are you doing?" John yawned, rolling over and pulling a cushion over his head.

The detective clicked vigorously at the laptop, drumming his fingers on the table impatiently. "This should be working…"

John groaned and closed his eyes tightly, fed up with the vague answers. "What should?" he mumbled.

"Ah!" Sherlock declared, swinging the laptop around proudly so John could see the screen. It was lit up with an image of a bedroom, in black-and-white. Wait…the image was moving. A video?

"What is that?" asked John, stumbling over to get a closer look.

Sherlock sat back in his chair with a contented sigh.

John's eyes focused on the screen. It wasn't a video, it was a live stream. The bedroom being Mycroft's. The people depicted being Mycroft and Greg.

**Was it ok? Like I said, it's only a short little thing. Hopefully it was a bit of fun. Please review!**

**Amy xxx**


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